CHAPTER XLVII

THUS conversing, they arrived at the point where the two paths divided, and where Consuelo had met Zdenko. They perceived at a distance the light of his lantern, which was placed on the ground beside him. Consuelo, having learned by experience the dangerous whims, and almost incredible strength of the idiot, involuntarily pressed close to Albert, on perceiving the indication of his approach.

"Why do you fear this mild and affectionate creature?" said the young count, surprised, yet secretly gratified at her terror. "Poor Zdenko loves you, although since yesternight a frightful dream has made him refractory and rather hostile to your generous project of coming to seek me. But he is, when I desire it, as submissive as a child, and you shall see him at your feet if I but say the word."

"Do not humiliate him before me," replied Consuelo; "do not increase the aversion which he already entertains for me. I shall by and bye inform you of the serious reasons I have to fear and avoid him for the future."

"Zdenko," replied Albert, "is surely an ethereal being, and it is difficult to conceive how he could inspire any one whatever with fear. His state of perpetual ecstasy confers on him the purity and charity of angels."

"But this state of ecstasy when it is prolonged becomes a disease. Do not deceive yourself on this point. God does not wish that man should thus abjure the feeling and consciousness of his real life, to elevate himself—often by vague conceptions—to an ideal world. Madness, the general result of these hallucinations, is a punishment for his pride and indolence."

Cynabre stopped before Zdenko, and looked at him affectionately, expecting some caresses, which his friend did not deign to bestow upon him. He sat with his head buried in his hands, in the same attitude and on the same spot as when Consuelo left him. Albert addressed him in Bohemian, but he hardly answered. He shook his head with a disconsolate air; his cheeks were bathed in tears, and he would not even look at Consuelo. Albert raised his voice and addressed him with a determined air; but there was more of exhortation and tenderness than of command and reproach, in the tones of his voice. Zdenko rose at last, and offered his hand to Consuelo, who clasped it, trembling.

"From henceforward," said he in German, looking at her kindly, though sadly, "you must no longer fear me; but you have done me a great injury, and I feel that your hand is full of misfortune for us."

He walked before them, exchanging a few words with Albert from time to time. They followed the spacious and solid gallery which Consuelo had not yet traversed at this extremity, and which led them to a circular vault, where they again met the water of the fountain, flowing into a vast basin, formed by the hand of man and bordered with hammered stone. It escaped thence by two currents, one of which was lost in the caverns, the other took the direction toward the cistern of the château. It was this which Zdenko had closed by replacing with his Herculean hand three enormous stones which he removed when he wished to dry the cistern to the level of the arcade, and the staircase which led to Albert's terrace.

"Let us seat ourselves here," said the count to his companion, "in order to give the water of the cistern time to drain off by a waste way——"

"Which I know but too well," said Consuelo, shuddering from head to foot.

"What do you mean?" asked Albert, looking at her with surprise.

"I will tell you by and bye," said Consuelo, "I do not wish to grieve and agitate you now by the relation of the perils which I have surmounted——"

"But what does she mean?" cried Albert, looking at Zdenko.

Zdenko replied in Bohemian with an air of indifference, while kneading with his long brown hands lumps of clay, which he placed in the interstices of his sluice, in order to hasten the draining of the cistern. "Explain yourself, Consuelo," said Albert, much agitated. "I can comprehend nothing of what he says. He pretends that he did not conduct you to this place, but that you came by subterranean passages which I know to be impassable, and where a delicate female could never have dared to venture, nor have been able to find her way. He says (Great God! what does the unfortunate not say?) that it was destiny winch conducted you, and that the archangel Michael, whom he calls the proud and domineering, caused you to pass safely through the water and the abyss."

"It is possible," said Consuelo, with a smile, "that the archangel Michael had something to do with it; for it is certain that I came by the waste-way of the fountain, that I fled before the torrent, that I gave myself up for lost two or three times, that I traversed caverns and abysses where I expected at every step to be swallowed up or suffocated; and yet these dangers were not more fearful than Zdenko's anger, when chance or Providence caused me to find the true route." Here Consuelo, who always expressed herself in Spanish with Albert, related to him in a few words the reception which his pacific Zdenko had given her, and his attempt to bury her alive which he had almost succeeded in accomplishing at the moment when she had the presence of mind to appease him by the singular watchword of the heretics. A cold perspiration burst out upon Albert's forehead on hearing these incredible details, and he often darted terrible glances at Zdenko, as if he would have annihilated him. Zdenko, on meeting them, assumed a strange expression of revolt and disdain. Consuelo trembled to see these two insane persons excited against each other; for notwithstanding the profound wisdom and lofty sentiments which characterized the greater part of Albert's conversation, it was evident to her that his reason had sustained a severe shock, from which perhaps it would never entirely recover. She tried to reconcile them by addressing affectionate words to each. But Albert, rising and giving the keys of his hermitage to Zdenko, said a few cold words to him, to which Zdenko submitted on the instant. He then resumed his lantern and went his way, singing his strange airs with their incomprehensible words.

"Consuelo," said Albert, as soon as he had retired out of sight, "if this faithful animal which lies at your feet should become mad—yes, if my poor Cynabre should endanger your life by an involuntary fury, I should certainly be obliged to kill him; and do not think that I would hesitate, though my hand has never shed blood, even that of beings inferior to man. Be tranquil, therefore, no danger will menace you hereafter."

"Of what are you speaking, Albert?" replied the young girl, agitated at this unlooked-for allusion. "I fear nothing now. Zdenko is still a man, though he has lost his reason by his own fault perhaps, and partly also by yours. Speak not of blood and punishment. It is your duty to restore him to the truth, and to cure him, instead of encouraging his insanity. Come, let us go; I tremble lest the day should dawn, and surprise us on our arrival."

"You are right," said Albert, continuing his route. "Wisdom speaks by your lips, Consuelo. My insanity has smitten that unfortunate as if by contagion, and it was quite time for you to arrive, and save us from the abyss to which we were both hastening. Restored by you, I will endeavor to restore Zdenko. And yet if I do not succeed, if his insanity again puts your life in danger, although Zdenko be a man in the sight of God, and an angel in his tenderness for me—though he be the only true friend I have hitherto had upon the earth—be assured, Consuelo, I will tear him from my heart, and you shall never see him again."

"Enough, enough, Albert?" murmured Consuelo, incapable after so many terrors of supporting a fresh one; "do not let such ideas dwell upon your mind. I would rather lose my life a hundred times, than inflict upon yours such a fearful necessity and such a cause for despair."

Albert did not heed her, and seemed absent. He forgot to support her, and did not perceive that she faltered and stumbled at every step. He was absorbed by the idea of the dangers she had incurred for his sake; and in his terror at picturing them to himself, in his ardent solicitude and excited gratitude, he walked rapidly, making the gallery resound with his hurried exclamations, and leaving her to drag herself after him with efforts which became every moment more painful. In this cruel situation, Consuelo thought of Zdenko who was behind her, and who might follow them; of the torrent which he always held, as it were, in his hand, and which he could again unchain at the moment when she was ascending the well alone, deprived of Albert's assistance; for the latter, a prey to a new fancy, thought he saw her before him, and followed a deceitful phantom, while he abandoned her to darkness. This was too much for a woman, and even for Consuelo herself. Cynabre trotted on as fast as his master, and bounded before him carrying the lantern. Consuelo had left hers in the cell. The road made numerous turns behind which the light disappeared every instant. Consuelo struck against one of those angles, fell, and could not rise again. The chill of death ran through all her limbs. A last apprehension presented itself to her mind. Zdenko had probably received orders to open the sluice-gate after a certain time, in order to conceal the staircase and the issue of the cistern, so that even if hatred did not inspire him, he would obey this necessary precaution from habit. "It is accomplished then," thought Consuelo, making vain attempts to drag herself forward on her knees. "I am the victim of a pitiless destiny. I shall never escape from this cavern—my eyes will never again behold the light of day."

Already a thicker veil than that of the outward darkness spread itself over her sight; her hands became numb, and an apathy, which resembled the sleep of death, suspended her terror. Suddenly she felt herself caught and raised by a powerful arm, which drew her toward the cistern. A burning bosom beats against hers, and warms it; a friendly and caressing voice addresses her with tender words; Cynabre bounds before her, shaking the light. It is Albert, who, restored to himself, seizes and saves her, with the passionate tenderness of a mother who has lost and found her child. In three minutes they arrived at the canal which the water of the fountain had left dry, and reached the archway and the staircase. Cynabre, accustomed to this dangerous ascent, leaped forward first, as if he feared to encumber his master's steps by remaining too near him.

Albert, carrying Consuelo on one arm, and clinging with the other to the chain, ascended the spiral staircase, at the foot of which the water already began to mount also. This was not the least of the dangers which Consuelo had encountered: but she felt no fear. Albert was endowed with a herculean strength, in comparison with which Zdenko's was as a child's, and at this moment he was animated with supernatural power. When he had deposited his precious burden upon the margin of the well in the light of the breaking dawn, Consuelo, at last breathing freely, and rising from his panting breast, wiped with her veil his broad forehead bathed in perspiration. "My friend," said she, tenderly, "without you I should have died, and you have repaid all that I have done for you; but I now feel your fatigue more than you do yourself, and it seems to me that in your place I should sink under it."

"O my little Zingarella!" said Albert to her with enthusiasm, kissing the veil which she rested upon his face, "you are as light in my arms as on the day when I descended from the Schreckenstein to carry you to the château."

"Which you will not again leave without my permission, Albert; do not forget your oath."

"Nor you yours," replied he, kneeling before her. He then assisted her to wrap herself in the veil, and to cross his chamber, from which she escaped stealthily to regain her own. The family began to awake in the castle. Already from the lower story a dry and piercing cough, the signal of her rising, was heard from the canoness. Consuelo was fortunate enough not to be seen or heard by any one. Fear gave her wings to regain the shelter of her apartment. With a trembling hand she freed herself from her soiled and torn clothes, and hid them in a trunk, from which she removed the key. She retained sufficient strength and recollection to conceal every trace of her mysterious journey, but hardly had she let her wearied head fall upon the pillow, when a heavy yet troubled sleep, full of fanciful dreams and horrible adventures, chained it there, under the weight of an overpowering and raging fever.